The Curse of the Gloamglozer (22 page)

‘Dismissed?’ said Quint. ‘What for?’

‘The usual,’ Maris sighed. ‘Intrigue. Double-dealing. Lining his own pocket … Didn't you see him tucking some bag or pouch inside his jerkin just then. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if the two of them weren't up to something…‘

She fell still. The wind whistled through the bars of the cage as it continued downwards; the chain went
chink chink chink
.

‘Unless it was just a coincidence,’ said Quint at last, ‘the pair of them being together.‘

Maris shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I hope so. But then, if I know Sanctaphrax…’

CLUNK!

A loud, metallic noise vibrated down the chain and through the cage. Something was wrong.

Maris turned to Quint. ‘What was tha… ?
Aargh!
’ she screamed as the cage abruptly plummeted down through the air.

‘The chain!’ Quint cried out. ‘It's broken!’

Jangling like a traitor's bag of gold pieces, the chain slipped unimpeded through the winch-wheel. Faster and faster the cage fell. Maris pulled herself out of her seat and clutched at the bars. Quint gripped the weight-levers and trod down again and again on the brake-pedal.

The ice-cold wind howled up through the cage, freezing its two terrified passengers to the bone – and, at the same time, chilling the buoyant-rock to its core. Suddenly Quint's fingers detected a change of speed. He could feel it in the weight-levers.

‘We're slowing down!’ he exclaimed. ‘The cold wind's making the rock more buoyant.’ He looked round desperately. ‘But we haven't got more than a few seconds,’ he said, his hands leaping over the levers, raising and lowering them as quickly as his fingers
would go. ‘Maris!’ he shouted. ‘Can you see an opening in the rock? Somewhere below us…’

Maris seized her lantern and shone it towards the pitted surface of the rock. ‘No …’ she said. ‘No, I … Yes!’

‘Where?’ shouted Quint.

‘To … to our left.’

‘To our left,’ Quint repeated, frantically realigning the weight-levers. ‘How many degrees?’

‘D … degrees?’ said Maris.

‘Imagine it's a clock,’ said Quint impatiently. ‘How many minutes before twelve?’

‘Five,’ said Maris. ‘A bit less perhaps…’

‘Between twenty-five and thirty degrees,’ Quint muttered grimly. He lowered the outer weights further. The cage continued to fall – but slower now and at a marked angle. The rock loomed closer. The entrance to the tunnel was coming up to meet them. He locked the weight-levers, scrambled over to the door and threw it open.

‘What are you doing?’ cried Maris.

‘We've got to get out of here while we still can,’ he said. ‘Come on, Maris. Get ready to jump.’

‘Jump?’ Maris gasped. The panic in her voice was unmistakable. ‘I … I can't…’

‘You must!’ said Quint.

The sky cage dropped lower. The hole in the rock came closer.

‘See that ledge,’ Quint said. ‘We're going to jump onto it.’

‘No, Quint,’ Maris groaned, ‘it's…’

But Quint was no longer listening. He seized her hand and dragged her towards the opening of the cage.

‘NO!’ cried Maris.

All at once the end of the cage's heavy chain, which had been falling so much faster than the cage itself, abruptly dropped below them – knocking the cage out of kilter and dislodging the buoyant-rock from its casing. Now they were in freefall.

‘Quint!’ Maris screamed, and grabbed hold of his arm desperately.

‘Jump!’ shouted Quint. ‘
Now!
’

The pair of them leapt from the plummeting cage. Maris screamed as she flew off into the void, Quint holding her tightly. The next moment, the two of them – still clinging on to one another for dear life – landed on the rocky ledge and collapsed together in a heap. The lantern in Maris's hand smashed against the stone, guttered and went out.

From behind them came a creak and a crack and the entire low-sky cage tumbled away below them. Moments later, there was a loud
crash
and a wail echoed
up through the air. Then silence. Maris climbed up shakily and helped Quint to his feet.

‘We made it,’ Quint said.

Maris swallowed nervously as she looked down over the steep side of the great floating rock. The curve made it impossible to see the ground directly below them, so she couldn't see the remains of the sky cage – but she knew they were there: twisted, broken, smashed to smithereens, as their bodies would have been if they had not managed to escape.

‘
You
made it,’ she said softly. ‘You saved my life, Quint.’ Her face darkened. ‘The chain didn't just break. Someone cut it. It must have been that stranger and the guard. Quint, they tried to kill us!’

Quint shook his head. ‘It wasn't
us
they were trying to kill,’ he said. ‘It's your father they‘re after. And with that cape of his you're wearing, they probably think they got him.’

The pair of them peered up. Far, far above their heads – no larger than a couple of woodants – were two figures silhouetted against the lamplight of the West Landing, staring down from the balustrade.

‘There they are,’ said Quint bitterly. ‘Our would-be assassins.’

‘Then let's give them what they want,’ Maris said, removing the hooked pikestaff from her sleeve, pulling her father's great cape from her shoulders, rolling it into a ball and tossing it over the side. Quint's followed close behind. ‘For the time being, at least, they'll think they've succeeded.’ She turned back to Quint, a big grin playing round her lips – only to find him staring back at her, his face a picture of gloom. ‘Cheer up! They failed. We're still alive.’

Quint snorted. ‘In case you hadn't noticed,’ he said, ‘we're stuck on the side of a floating rock, hundreds of strides above the ground. We can't jump. We can't climb up or down. We haven't got parawings. What are we going to do? You tell me that.’

Maris stared at him levelly. ‘We're going to do what we came here to do,’ she said, her green eyes flashing fiercely.

· CHAPTER TWELVE ·

GLISTERS

M
aris, please hold my lantern still,’ said Quint, trying hard to keep the irritation from his voice. He was checking the wall for the black chalk arrows and Maris wasn't making this task any easier. ‘I can't see properly.‘

‘Why don't
you
hold it, then?’ snapped Maris. Quint flinched. There was the old arrogance in her tone, the cold anger he'd heard in the Palace of Shadows, at the Fountain House … ‘Oh, but then I forgot,’ she added. ‘You have that little problem with fire, don't you?’

Quint turned away, and swallowed hard. He examined the wall more closely. Not only were they in danger of losing their way, but now they were beginning to squabble.

‘It's this way,’ he said at last, pointing down the tunnel. He picked up the hooked pikestaff Maris had brought with her and set off.

Things had been very different the first time Quint entered the stonecomb tunnel. On that occasion he'd followed the professor, unaware of where he was heading. Now
he
was the one leading the way, the one
responsible for not getting both him and Maris lost in the endless labyrinth of shifting tunnels.

At first, they ' d tried to proceed with Maris at the front and Quint following. But it hadn't worked out. Maris, who could see clearly, was unsure what she was searching for, while Quint, who – since he'd put them there – knew exactly what the marks looked like, could barely see a thing. As the tunnel was too narrow for them to walk two abreast, they'd swapped places.

It worked far better with Quint leading and Maris following close behind, the lantern raised up above Quint's left shoulder – although having the hot, bright flame so close to his face coloured his thoughts with an intense unease. He bit his lip and peered into the strange, eerie gloom ahead. Reddish and faintly glowing, the air flickered with little flashes of light far in the distance.

‘Sorry,’ said Maris, close to his ear.

‘Me, too,’ said Quint. ‘We've got enough to worry
about without falling out with each other.’

‘Being in the stonecomb, you mean?’ said Maris.

Quint nodded. ‘It's the most unpleasant place I've ever been,’ he said. ‘The endless maze of tunnels. The constant shifting of the rock …’ He shuddered. ‘We'd better keep moving.’

It wasn't only the stonecomb that concerned Quint, but also the creatures which the terrible place offered refuge to. Being pursued through the tunnels on his previous visit was still all too fresh in his memory. The pulsing crimson light. The flapping and snuffling and groaning – and the way whatever it was had cried out with such obvious relish when it tasted his blood.

He hesitated. They had come to a fork in the corridor and Quint needed to concentrate to make sure that they went the right way. As he scoured the walls carefully, an icy shiver ran the length of his spine. He was sure he was being watched.

‘Is that it?’ asked Maris, pointing to a small, ill-formed arrow on the wall at one of the entrances.

‘Yes,’ said Quint uncertainly. ‘Yes, it's this way. Come on.’

They continued down the left-hand tunnel in silence. All round them, the atmosphere changed as they penetrated deeper and deeper into the rock. The hissing grew softer, the humming grew louder, the temperature rose. Both Maris and Quint were soon wiping their brows and loosening their clothes, and their discomfort wasn't helped by the fact that the path they were following was climbing. Quint suddenly stopped. Maris bumped into him and the lantern swung wildly.

‘What is it?’ she said.

‘This isn't right,’ said Quint.

‘Not right?’ she said, the cold anger returning to her voice.‘But I thought we were following the track that you'd marked.’

‘We were,’ said Quint, trying to stay calm. ‘The thing is, when I was following your father, the tunnel we took was flat. This tunnel is…’

‘Going upwards,’ said Maris. She sighed.

‘We must have taken a wrong turning,’ said Quint. ‘We'll have to go back.’

‘Oh, great,’ said Maris in a flat voice. She was no longer angry – just weary. ‘You mean we're lost.’ Suddenly her energy seemed gone. She slumped to the tunnel floor. The lantern by her side dimmed as its reserve of tilder-oil ran low.

‘We mustn't give up,’ said Quint. He reached down and, with an immense effort, forced himself to pick up the lantern. His hands shook; the fiery light flickered. ‘Come on, Maris,’ he said. ‘If I can make myself carry this lantern, then you can make yourself carry on.’

Maris said nothing, her face now buried in her hands.

‘Maris, please!’ said Quint. ‘I need you. I can't do this on my own.’

He held out his hand. Slowly Maris looked up. There were tears in her eyes, but also that look which Quint was beginning to know so well, the stubbornness and courage just below the surface. She smiled, took his outstretched hand and let herself be pulled up.

‘Sorry,’ she said once more.

She reached out and took the lantern from his hand. As she did so, the flame sputtered and died, and they were enveloped by the oppressive gloom. Quint peered about him. Although it was not pitch-black in the tunnel, the faintly glowing stonecomb barely produced enough light to see by.